Pies and Prejudice
by Lady Verity
Summary: Complete! The Tale of Sweeney Todd as might have been written by the late, great Jane Austen. Sweenett of course. AU-sorta. M for later. Second fic, first multi-chap. You know you want to, so please read, review, and be merry!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! Welcome to my second fic and first multi-chapter ever! I was randomly struck with inspiration for this when I saw the Pride and Prejudice miniseries and realized that the main ingredients for a great Jane Austen romance (a dashing, mysterious guy, a headstrong, willful girl, a secondary, somewhat uninteresting couple, etc.) could all be found in Sweeney Todd. I don't plan to take the whole Jane Austen thing TOO far, though. I write dialogue as seems best for the story, and may throw in some surprising plot twists later on. Enjoy!**

**Also: All reviewers are cordially invited to Verity and Sweeney's Annual Meat Pie Banquet. Hope to see you there! Now, on to the story!**

"Look at that man over there," said Nellie Lovett's mother at the London market one Saturday. "Never seen 'im around before. And 'e looks right 'andsome, don't 'e Nellie?"

"Exactly 'ow many times do you intend to try this with me, mum?" replied her daughter. "I've told you to stop trying to set me up with every man in all of bloody England with a pulse." She almost added something about, "we saw how well that worked last time," but that would have been too cruel. She had taken her mother's advice in marrying Albert Lovett, and she had been quite fond of him at first. But over the years he changed into someone cruel, a great bloated tyrant. And then, just when she was starting to consider getting the police involved, he caught scarlet fever and he died, leaving her to run the pie shop.

"You can at least take a look!" her mother insisted, and so Nellie looked. To her great surprise, he wasn't one of the typically repellant men her mother usually pointed out. In fact, he was _extremely_ handsome. Tall and thin, with a certain poise about him and the most incredible dark eyes Nellie Lovett had ever seen. Involuntarily, she let out a little sigh.

"Who you lookin' at?" asked the lady at the vegetable stall, an old friend of her mother's and reliable source of gossip. Her eyes found where Nellie's were. "Oh, _him_. That's Mr. Sweeney Todd, just arrived in town. Supposed to be the heir to the Todd hairdressing fortune. Must be some long-lost relation," she added, seeing Nellie's confused expression. Everyone knew old George Todd hadn't had any children, just his assistant, Ben Barker, who got shipped off to Australia for reasons still not entirely clear.

"So he's rich!" cried Nellie's mother triumphantly, her eyes lighting up. "Nellie, dear, the poor man's new in town, why don't you go and introduce yourself? I mean, just to make him feel welcome, what could it hurt?"

Nellie looked at the two older women's hopeful, expectant faces and smiled. "Oh all right," she said. "But you two are the biggest twits in London."

She marched straight up to him and said, boldly so as not to show she was nervous, "Why hello there good sir, I don't believe we've met. I'm Mrs. Danielle Lovett, owner and operator of the meat pie shop down on Fleet Street. You must be new in town. If so, allow me to be the first to welcome you to London. I'm sure you'll find it a most agreeable city." There. For once she had even managed a decent curtsy.

The man looked startled, as if he had been deep in thought before she'd spoken. Finally he said "Mr. Sweeney Todd, charmed I'm sure," then nodded once and took off, muttering something to himself. Mrs. Lovett caught a line about "the vermin of the world."

Mrs. Lovett was furious. _Vermin! _How dare he! We can't all be "heir to the Todd hairdressing fortune," but where did he get off talking to a respectable woman like herself that way? Mrs. Lovett stormed back to where her mother and the vegetable lady were waiting.

"That," she said, "is one man I can assure you I will have nothing to do with ever again!" And with a quick goodbye she marched straight off back to her pie shop.

Meanwhile, Sweeney Todd was looking for his former barber shop. George Todd's little upstairs place on Fleet Street. When he finally found it, and saw the shop underneath, he cringed. He really had been rude to that woman, and whatever else he may have been, Sweeney Todd told himself, he was not rude. He even planned to be courteous to the judge until the moment he slit his throat, making his revenge all the sweeter. But first, to achieve that, he had already decided he needed his old barber shop back, and to get that, he needed to talk to that woman. Sweeney Todd took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and opened the door.

Inside, Mrs. Lovett was working some dough with a rolling pin. Times were hard at the pie shop, especially what with her apprentice Toby being away touring with an all-street urchin production of _Oliver!_ She heard the bell on the shop door ring and immediately jumped up. "Hello, welcome to Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shop, worst pies in London, how may I help you?" This was her latest business strategy: maybe if she was open about the inedible pies, they would develop a sort of novelty value. Then she saw it was _him_. Her friendly expression turned to what she hoped was haughty indifference. She was distressed to realize she still found him absurdly attractive.

Mr. Todd paused for a moment. Could he really go through with this? He had to. But he was still too proud to offer an apology about the market. Instead he said, "Madam, if you would be so kind as to listen for a moment, I have a proposition that may be of some interest to you."

Her first instinct was to say no and boot him out of the shop, just to spite him. But her curiosity was too strong, so in the end she nodded and said, "have a seat. I suppose I can hear you out."

And what a story she heard! He told her everything, about his former identity, how old George Todd had believed he was innocent and left him his fortune, resulting in Sweeney Todd being "Benjamin's" new name, in George's honor, and about the judge, and Lucy, and more. The poor man! It was enough to make Mrs. Lovett forgive the "vermin" comment. He paused only once to ask what had happened to Lucy.

"She's dead," Mrs. Lovett said, which was true, if only just. After Lucy went mad she took to drinking absinthe, and the poison had finally caught up with her last week. Poor thing. Even if Mr. Todd had arrived a week earlier, Mrs. Lovett was doubtful she'd have said anything different. She couldn't imagine anything sadder than this poor man finding out his wife was a mad, absinthe-drinking beggar woman.

Mr. Todd just looked resigned, as if he had known all along, which in a way he had. Mrs. Lovett put a sympathetic hand on his wrist and left it there. Then he continued his story, her hand still in place.

"So as you can see, I require the shop upstairs in order to extract my revenge upon the judge, and I was hoping we could find some sort of arrangement," he said when he had finished. He was furious with himself. He'd only meant to ask her to rent the room, not tell her his bloody life's story! And why did it feel so good to have her hand on his wrist, to look into her eyes? It must just be because it had been so

long since he was around a woman, and so long since . . . someone listened. Yes, he told himself, that must be it.

"Well," Mrs. Lovett said, "how's about you take the room, and we sort out rent and all once you've gotten on your feet. And the same goes with your meals. I promise you, I am a good cook so long as it's not meat pies. What do you say?" Mrs. Lovett stuck out her hand to shake. She was equally livid with herself. What had possessed her to give him the room, and not even try to bleed him dry on the rent! Had she gone mad? And what was he thinking behind those dark, flashing eyes she could drown in . . . _stop thinking about his eyes!_ she ordered herself._ And don't start on those cheekbones either . . ._

Sweeney Todd had to fight back an amazed smile. He had just told this woman that he was planning to rent a room from her in order to extract revenge by murdering a judge, and she had just nodded as if she understood! She was going to rent him the room! Nobody he had ever known would have done that. Whoever this Danielle Lovett was, she was a bloody wonder. And she was the closest thing Sweeney Todd had to an ally. He couldn't suppress a haughty sort of smile as he took her hand. "Mrs. Lovett, I do believe we have ourselves an agreement."


	2. Chapter 2

**Woo hoo, Chapter 2! (sorry, rhyming only sorta intended) Just to clear things up, I will mostly be staying in the realm of Sweeney Todd, with a few Jane-Austenish twists and turns. Thanks a bunch for the reviews, and for anyone who hasn't reviewed yet, my offer on the banquet invite still stands!**

**This chapter is kinda filler, but because your Auntie Verity is a kind and generous soul, she will be getting Chapter 3 up real soon, and stop referring to herself in the third person. Enjoy!**

Over the next few weeks, Nellie Lovett thought, things at the pie shop were . . . comfortable. She and Mr. Todd had fallen into a sort of routine. They didn't talk too much, or rather, he didn't talk too much, she did, but when they did have a real conversation, it would have a nice rhythm to it. She was too embarrassed to mention rent, but the barber shop did a steady business, and about a week after Mr. Todd moved in, Mrs. Lovett found an envelope outside her room. Inside was more money than the pie shop had seen in six months.

Toby's show had closed: apparently, the few people with money to go to the theatre seemed to prefer the talents of trained professionals to those of street urchins. Bloody snobs. But anyway, although the tour was over, Toby still wasn't back at the pie shop. Nellie's friend Tom, the printer, needed an apprentice, and Nellie had decided printing was a much better trade for the lad than baking indigestible pies, so off he went to the print shop a few doors down.

Yes, times were looking a little better for Mrs. Lovett, with one notable exception: she was developing a hopeless infatuation with her upstairs boarder. She couldn't even say why, exactly. Maybe it was his tragic past, or the danger of his revenge and all, or a sense of shared hard times, or the way he'd sometimes help her clean up the shop, but only when he thought she wasn't looking. Or maybe it was how, on a few rare occasions, she would see him looking at her with an expression that wasn't his usual haunted, revenge-driven look, or a haughty, slightly superior one he sometimes wore, but more something that said, "I'm glad I found you."

As for Mr. Todd himself, apart from the thirst for revenge and all, he was doing okay. He was back in the shaving business, which, whether his name was Todd or Barker or anything else, was a part of him. As for his landlady, Mrs. Lovett, he . . . wasn't sure how he felt about her. Yes, he was grateful to her for everything she'd done, though he wouldn't show it, but he also found her . . . slightly amazing. No one he could ever remember knowing, not even his Lucy, would have understood so well about his situation, and wanting to kill the judge and all, and he'd also never seen someone work so hard at a business that was so clearly a lost cause. And, quite often, he'd notice her looking at him with the strangest 

expression. Something like . . . affection. But he decided he would worry about that some other time. Some much, _much _later time.

Things progressed like this for a while, until one Thursday when several important things happened. The first was this: Mrs. Lovett's mother came to visit the pie shop.

"Why 'ello, Nellie dear!" she called out. "Just thought I'd pop by for a visit!"

"Hello mother," said Mrs. Lovett. She hadn't told her mother about Mr. Todd, and anyway, her mother never stopped by without a reason.

Upstairs, Sweeney Todd was just seating a customer who'd come in for a shave. The man was stout, overdressed, and had a mean look about him. As if he never saw a person he couldn't or wouldn't find something wrong with.

"Do sit down," Mr. Todd said.

"Glad to see there's finally a new barber in town," the man said, taking a seat. "Hope you're a proper one, not like that crackpot George Todd or that incompetent Ben Barker."

"Now sir," said Mr. Todd, "there's really no need for that."

Downstairs, Mrs. Lovett's mother had moved past the opening pleasantries and finally gotten to the real purpose of her visit, and Nellie Lovett was utterly horrified. "You want me to marry cousin Andrew?!"

"Oh come now, Nellie, you know we need the money, to keep your father and my place out in the country, and to keep this business afloat isn't cheap, and besides, he's family, and he's quite fond of you."

"Mother . . ." Mrs. Lovett started. If the men her mother usually tried to set her up with were repellant, then cousin Andrew, an upper-middle-class bachelor grocer, heir to a little money, was their king. His very voice gave people an icky feeling down their spine, and he always seemed to be slightly damp, even in the dry heat of summer at his house in the country. Mrs. Lovett would rather marry a codfish.

Upstairs, despite the warning, Mr. Todd's customer was prattling on, "So then this Barker chap gets himself sent to Australia, serve him right . . ."

"Really, sir," Sweeney Todd began, razor gently shaving the man's plump neck.

"At least think on it," Mrs. Lovett's mother said as she turned to go. "He's talked to us about it, and it would be a good match."

"I will," said Mrs. Lovett, thinking to herself, _Yes, I'll think on how there's nothing in the world I want less to do._ "Bye, mum."

It was time to take Mr. Todd his lunch. Mrs. Lovett hadn't been lying about her cooking skills. Her other dishes, like today's vegetable soup, or her peppery roast chicken, or crisp fish and chips, were all perfectly pleasant. She loaded a tray with the soup, some bread, and a glass of gin, and went upstairs. She opened the door and . . .

"Oh, Mr. T, you _didn't_."


	3. Chapter 3

**See? Auntie Verity is a woman of her word (although maybe not about the third person thing . . .). Thanks a bundle to all my wonderful reviewers, and for those of you who are reading but not hat the banquet!**

**Now, on to the much meatier (no pun intended) and less filler-ish chapter 3!**

"Oh, Mr. T . . . you _didn't_," said Mrs. Lovett, seeing Mr. Todd standing over the body of a stout, overdressed man with a slit throat.

"He . . . started talking about old George Todd," Sweeney Todd said, "And Benjamin. Said some awful things, and I just . . . lost my temper."

"Oh," Mrs. Lovett said. For some reason, she wasn't horrified. Sad, that this all had happened, but not horrified. "Well now, what are we going to do with the body?"

Again, Sweeney Todd struggled not to show his amazement. How did this woman, whom he'd known for barely a few weeks, understand him so well? And what's more, how did she accept him, as is? "I suppose we'll have to sneak him out and bury him somewhere," he said.

"Yes," she started to say, when suddenly she had an idea. An idea she knew she should tuck away to a far corner of her mind, never to see again, but one she somehow found herself saying aloud, "You know, if we really wanted to be sure no one would find the body, we could do something else. Everyone already knows my pies are the worst in London, they'd hardly notice a strange flavor . . . frankly, a little extra meat could help, and I know for a fact that Mrs. Moony puts dead cats in her pies. . . absolutely horrid, I've always thought . . . but anyway . . ."

Mr. Todd saw what she was getting at. The very thought should have disgusted him. It really should have. But he couldn't suppress a grin as he said, "That's brilliant!"

"Really?" said Mrs. Lovett, grinning herself. Though they both knew they shouldn't be, that it was wrong and horrible, they were intoxicated by the idea. In a moment they were dancing, a waltz, and singing a giddy little song they made up on the spot.

"_Is it really good?"_

"_Sir it's too good, at least."_

"_Is that squire on the fire?"_

"_Mercy no sir, look closer, you'll notice it's grocer," _giggled Mrs. Lovett, relishing the thought of baking cousin Andrew into a pie_._

"_The history of the world, my love . . ."_

"_Save a lot of graves, do a lot of relatives favors . . ."_

"_We won't discriminate great or small. . ._

"_No, we'll serve anyone . . ._

"_Meaning anyone. . ._

"_And to anyone. . ._

"_At all!"_

They were both exhilarated as they hit that last note in perfect unison. But then a funny thing happened. Neither could say who started it, but somehow they found themselves entangled in a tight embrace, kissing fiercely.

It really was incredible. Neither had ever kissed or been kissed anything like this. In Benjamin's day, he had always tried to be very gentle with Lucy, very careful. And as for Mrs. Lovett . . . at first Albert had kissed her very sweetly, but towards the end it was these horrible slobbery things, and only when he'd been pretty far into the gin.

They somehow managed to stumble up the stairs, lips still locked, her hands buried in his wild dark hair. Mr. Todd was struggling with Mrs. Lovett's dress. _Why did she always have to wear these complicated lace-up things, anyway?_ He wondered. Suddenly, he grabbed one of his razors, smiling at her slightly confused expression as he flipped it open and cut open the front of the dress. Then he caught her lips again in another fierce kiss and . . .

They both heard the bell downstairs ring and stopped dead in their tracks.

_The one bloody day I have customer! _Thought Mrs. Lovett angrily. And look at her, in this state . . . at least she'd never been particularly fond of this dress . . .

When the customer- who happened to be the vegetable lady from the market, come in for a quick glass of gin while she was taking a break- was finally served, she noticed that Mrs. Lovett must have been doing something awfully messy back in the kitchen, because she was wearing a long white apron that covered her from neck to ankles. Whatever she was doing must have been quite difficult, the vegetable lady also noted, because her face was flushed as red as a cooked lobster.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey gang! Thanks for humoring Verity about talking about herself in the third person. She's very grateful. Sorry about the rude interruption, but this is a Jane Austen homage: there has to be some drama before we get to the juicy stuff! And remember, especially those of you who read but don't review (whom I know are out there): more reviews means faster and better updates, and I am offering an antique silver razor and a meat pie cookbook to all reviewers!**

**So, without further delay, chapter 4:**

Over the next few weeks, Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett seemed to have made an unspoken agreement to never, ever, discuss the events that occurred just after they, ahem, developed a new business strategy for the pie shop. In fact, they were both wallowing in denial about the whole incident.

You just got caught up in the intensity of the moment, Mrs. Lovett told herself. You are an independent woman and he is just a man who rents a room from you, who you cannot and do not have any feelings for. It's been a long time since someone said you were brilliant, and then with the dancing, and you upset about your mum and Andrew and all that . . . you would have been like that with nearly any man in London, given the circumstances.

_No, you wouldn't have, you're not some common tart_, said an annoyingly insistent voice in her head. _And I suppose you're telling me that his inner torment and his sexy dark eyes and the way he looks at you sometimes had nothing to with it at all?_

Sweeney Todd was trying similarly to reassure himself that it had all been nothing. He was supposed to be avenging Lucy, his, or rather Benjamin's, wife, after all. This was just a distraction that he couldn't allow to get in the way. It's been fifteen years since you've been around a woman (other than the whores that sometimes got sent to Australia for repeat offenses), he told himself. And the heat of the moment, and the dancing . . . you just got carried away, is all.

_Just keep telling yourself that,_ said an irritating little voice in his head.

Outwardly, their demeanor towards each other was much the same, although a bit more formal when actually speaking to each other, and a bit less formal in how they conducted themselves around each other. For instance, after Mr. Todd had delivered the latest batch of victims, he'd say something like:

"I trust you'll find these bodies quite satisfactory."

And Mrs. Lovett would answer, "Yes, I believe I shall. They look like they'll make splendid pies."

"Well then, I don't want to intrude. I trust I'll see you at dinner?"

"Of course."

But then there would be little things like the other day, when that man had grabbed Mrs. Lovett's bottom and whispered some obscene things to her before heading up for a shave. Mr. Todd had shot her a quick wink and she'd smiled, knowing she never had to worry about that man pestering her again.

Then, one afternoon, Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett both received identical, heavy, cream-colored envelopes trimmed with navy blue in the mail. This was most unusual, since neither of them ever got much mail. They each opened the envelopes to reveal a beautiful, expensive-looking invitation in cream, navy, and silver.

_Your presence is cordially requested_

_At Hope Hall this coming Saturday_

_For dinner and a ball, to celebrate Captain Anthony Hope's_

_Long-awaited return from the sea._

_Dress is formal._

_RSVP_

Hope Hall! thought Mrs. Lovett. That was one of the finest homes she knew of. Not as fine as Todd Hall, perhaps, but then hardly anywhere was. It was probably Johanna's doing that she was invited, she knew, and Anthony's that Mr. Todd was. Mr. Todd didn't like to talk about Johanna, what with her being taken by the judge and all, but he knew that she and Mrs. Lovett were good friends, that Mrs. Lovett loved her 

like a niece, and that the sailor he had befriended on the way home from Australia, Anthony Hope, was carrying on some sort of secret romance with her.

Now, thought Mrs. Lovett, to go or not to go? On the one hand, it was a grand ball at one of the finest houses around, and she'd love to see that. But then again, she wasn't rich like all of them, and given the circumstances with Mr. T . . . No! She decided. She would not be intimidated by him, she would go to this ball with her head held high. He would just see!

Upstairs, Mr. Todd was debating the very same question: to go or not? He did feel a certain amount of gratitude towards the sailor, and it might be nice to see Johanna, to see the sort of life she'd have with Anthony, once the judge was out of the picture. But then, it could be terribly awkward, making conversation with Benjamin's old acquaintances, and besides, the last time he'd done any dancing had been . . . but no! Sweeney Todd was not a coward, and he certainly would not be frightened off by Mrs. Lovett. He would go to this ball, and wouldn't that just show her!

Though neither of them knew of the other's doing, it was in almost perfect unison that Sweeney Todd and Nellie Lovett, upstairs and downstairs, pulled the cream-and-silver response card from the envelope and wrote that they would be most delighted to attend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the incredible reviews! You all make Verity smile. Just getting done with a torturous government exam and like 5 family birthdays. But to celebrate the end of all this stress, here's a nice long party chapter for your reading (and reviewing, hint, hint) pleasure. Also, in case anyone notices, my mental image of the ball is based on the "Masquerade" scene from Phantom of the Opera. Enjoy!**

The night of the ball arrived, and all of London's high society was excited and nervous, none more so than Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett.

Mrs. Lovett had changed into her one really fine dress for the occasion. It really was a lovely thing, pale primrose yellow that looked good with her red hair, which she wore up with a single yellow rose in it, and a full flowing skirt. She had even put in her one pair of earrings, teardrop quartz crystals. She knew it was nothing compared to what the other guests would be wearing, but as she looked at herself in the mirror, she thought she cleaned up alright.

Upstairs, Sweeney Todd had changed from his usual shirt and trousers into a simple, well-tailored dark suit, newly purchased, and had put on a pair of onyx cufflinks that had once belonged to George Todd. He wasn't the sort of man to be overly concerned with his appearance, but he wanted to be presentable to London society, to show them that he was a man to be taken seriously and, surveying himself in the barber shop mirror, he thought he'd done a fair job.

Of course, Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett had both found out the other one was attending tonight's event, and each was doing a commendable job of feigning relaxed indifference. They had even agreed to share a carriage to Hope Hall, to save money and besides, no one showed up to these things alone.

As Mr. Todd made his way down the stairs, Mrs. Lovett couldn't help but sigh. _He really is so handsome_, she thought, liking the way the suit brought out his eyes and how dramatic the white streak looked in his inky black hair.

Once Sweeney Todd was downstairs, he too was surprised by his neighbor's appearance. Mrs. Lovett had never been unattractive, although never the beauty Lucy had been, but tonight she looked . . . just so pretty, with the rose in her hair and all.

Perhaps it was that they were both dressed up and it was a special occasion and all of that, but somehow Mrs. Lovett found herself smiling, dipping into a curtsy, and saying, "Mr. T, you look right sharp this evening."

And maybe it was just a natural sense of etiquette on Sweeney Todd's part, but he smiled back, took Mrs. Lovett's hand, pressed it to his lips, and said, "You look lovely tonight, Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett took a deep breath to stop from swooning despite herself, and they both headed outside where the carriage was waiting.

They rode to Hope Hall in silence, although neither could help but be impressed at the sight of the grand manor set at the end of the wide, tree-lined avenue.

Inside, the ball was a glorious sight to behold. A sparkling ballroom, filled with a hundred of London's finest, dressed to the nines, talking and eating and laughing and dancing. For just one moment, Mr. Todd forgot his desire to impress and Mrs. Lovett forgot her insecurities, and they both just stood and watched, drinking in the color, the light, the sound.

Of course, their host came rushing over to greet them. Anthony Hope was a nice-looking, slightly foppish young man who, along with the young lady he was escorting, greeted them with startling enthusiasm."Oh, Mr. Todd, I really can't tell you, simply delighted that you and your lady friend could make it this evening. I do hope you're finding London more to your taste than you did when we last spoke, especially now that you've found this charming woman."

Meanwhile, Johanna was saying much the same thing to Mrs. Lovett. "Really, Nellie, so happy you could come, it's so rare I get out without Judge Turpin in tow, but he had stomach troubles, thank heavens! By the way, your gentleman friend- business associate, you say?- seems right charming."

Mrs. Lovett tried to smile and seem cheery through all this, and she was flattered by Anthony's compliments of her, but really, she couldn't help but notice that Johanna's dress alone was worth more than the pie shop would have made in a year before Mr. Todd moved in. As for Mr. Todd himself . . . well, he liked Anthony well enough, but all he could really notice was what Johanna looked like. Yes, she had Lucy's fair hair, but other than that she looked a lot like . . . his mother, who had died when he was ten. For some reason, seeing his mother's eyes in Johanna's face made him feel almost . . . happy.

After the greetings it was time to mingle, which was . . . interesting. Mr. Todd was suddenly plagued by shyness, and found himself hovering by the refreshments, where portly men smoking cigars would say things like, "So, are you a Todd of Todd Hall, then?"

"Why yes, sir, I am."

"Ah, Todd Hall! Fine old place. I say, did you hear the duke is building a new summer home? And in Surrey, of all places . . ."

And so on. And on. And on.

Mrs. Lovett, meanwhile, was having a fine time dancing with a stream of identical midshipmen when she felt a moist hand on her shoulder and heard a mealy voice say, "Why hello there, Cousin Nellie. I was hoping I would run into you."

"Cousin Andrew!" she cried, hoping it sounded more like an exclamation of delight than a cry of horror. There, in all his icky dampness, was hefty, pockmarked, pompous Cousin Andrew, wearing a plaid suit and a self-satisfied expression on his piggy face.

"You know, Nellie, I hear your mother told you of my offer, and giving your less than desirable economic circumstances it would be extremely prudent of you to consider . . ."

_Oh Lord,_ thought Nellie Lovett. _How am I going to get out of this? Oh, I could just kill mum . . ._

Across the room, Sweeney Todd noticed Mrs. Lovett looking absolutely miserable as that moist-looking fellow in the unfortunate plaid suit attempted to corner her near the stairs. Acting on sudden impulse, he excused himself to the portly man droning on about the prime minister and rushed over to where Mrs. Lovett and the moist man were standing.

"Excuse me sir, but I was wondering if I could borrow Mrs. Lovett for the next waltz?"

"What? Oh, certainly my good man," said Cousin Andrew, straightening his checkered cravat.

As they headed onto the dance floor, hand in hand, it was hard to say which of them was more startled. What was he thinking, Sweeney Todd wondered, asking Mrs. Lovett to dance? She seemed to have been having a ball earlier, dancing with those military idiots, paying him no mind, and now he feels the need to come to her rescue at a moment's discomfort? It was ridiculous!

As for Mrs. Lovett, while she would have been grateful to the devil himself for getting her away from Andrew, who did Mr. Todd think he was? Ignoring her all night, never once glancing back when she looked over at him, and then thinking he could rush over and claim her for a dance like his property! The absolute nerve of that man!

Once the guests had all gone home, naturally they all rehashed the party. And the one thing that came up in every conversation was Sweeney Todd dancing the waltz with Nellie Lovett, neither of them saying a word, never breaking eye contact the whole time. And everyone (except for Andrew) agreed that they had never seen a couple more gloriously, more obviously, more profoundly in love than the two of them were that evening.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took a while, but poor Verity (who really likes the third person) has a bit of a cold, and also, I couldn't make up my mind on what to do for this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and please, let me know what you think!**

Like the ride to Hope Hall, the ride home to Fleet Street was passed in silence. But this wasn't a companionable silence, like the first had been; this was tense, as if neither of them wanted to be the first to speak, but they both had a lot to say.

Once they were back at the shop, Mrs. Lovett finally broke down. It wasn't an angry torrent of words, more of a terse mutter. "I can't say I understand what got into you, Mr. T, ignoring me all night and then snatching me away from the gentleman I was talking to at the last minute like that. Don't know what came over you." She didn't add that, despite the intensity and despite her anger, dancing with him was far and away the highlight of her evening.

Sweeney Todd would not have been more shocked if someone had snuck up behind him and hit him over the head with a large mallet. The angry long-lost relative of one of his victims, perhaps. That at least might have made some sense. But what on Earth did Mrs. Lovett have to be angry about? After _she_ had ignored _him_ all night and danced with the entire British Navy, he had rescued her from the moist man! Besides . . . other than seeing Johanna, dancing with her was the only part of the evening he actually enjoyed. He struggled for a response and came up with, "You're not telling me you seriously would have preferred staying in the company of that man, are you?"

Mrs. Lovett stood on her dignity and said, "Perhaps I would have."

Sweeney saw that she was lying, and that cheered him slightly. "You're a bad liar," he said, smiling slightly, as he reached out one arm, blocking one of her paths of escape as she had backed up against the wall.

"That may be true, but a real gentleman would have apologized anyway, for offending a lady!" she cried, getting quite angry now. Who did he think he was?

Sweeney Todd's fingers itched for a razor; there was something about the cool feel of metal in his hands when he was angry. "A real lady would have recognized a favor when one was being given!"

"You're a murderer!" she whispered, voice low so the neighbors wouldn't hear.

"You're my accomplice!" he hissed.

For a moment neither of them spoke, just looked at each other with fire in their eyes. Then, suddenly, with no warning, he had pushed her against the wall and was kissing her desperately. She kissed him back with just as much abandon, clinging to him as if she might melt.

"We've gone mad," she whispered when they broke apart for air.

"Yes, quite," he agreed.

She was just starting to hope he had the patience to deal with the buttons on the back of her dress, because it really was her favorite, and he was feeling relieved it wasn't laces again, when suddenly they broke apart and stood at arms' length, palms touching.

"We can't," she whispered.

"I know." And then, though his brain cried out against it, "Mrs. Lovett, I've tried to ignore this for long enough, but I can't: will you marry me? I've hoped these feelings I harbor would go away, but they haven't, and it's threatening to distract me from my revenge. When I slit a man's throat, even when I think of the judge, it doesn't feel the same, and I am Sweeney Todd, I am supposed to be concentrating on my vengeance, that is supposed to be the world to me. I can think of only one foreseeable solution. Marry me."

Now it was Mrs. Lovett's turn to be in a state of shock. Finally, she spoke. "What kind of a proposal is that? You're asking me to marry you because you can't see a way around it? Well then the answer is most certainly no! Even Albert had the common decency to say he loved me when he proposed! He even mentioned some qualities of mine he found appealing, if you can imagine. But you, you ask me to marry you because I'm _distracting you in your quest for revenge_! I bet even you, or Benjamin or 

whoever, told Lucy he loved her when he popped the question! Well, didn't you?" Mrs. Lovett's brain was roaring in approval of this little speech, but her heart was breaking in two.

The mention of Benjamin was too much for Sweeney Todd. For a moment he looked as though he might throw something, but he just turned around and stormed upstairs without another word.

Mrs. Lovett just stood for a moment, as if debating whether or not to burst into tears, and then she too quietly made her way to her room.

Though they had schemed together, sung a song about cannibalism, plotted revenge, murdered, and baked people into meat pies, it was tonight, as they each made their ways to their rooms, that Sweeney Todd and Nellie Lovett wondered for the first time if maybe they really had gone mad.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys. Verity is really sorry about having to do that to you last chapter, but the Botched Proposal is a great Austen staple, and really moves the plot, as you'll see now. And now, the infinitely less frustrating luck chapter 7!**

**Also: hearing from my awesome readers makes my day, so please review!**

Once he had made his way upstairs, Sweeney Todd was absolutely livid with himself. Mrs. Lovett was right; his proposal had been ridiculous. Would it really have been so hard to think a moment, figure out how to say it properly? He pounded his fist against the wall in frustration. What was almost worse was that, now that you mention it, Benjamin _hadn't_ told Lucy he loved her when he proposed. They had both been raised to think that a man and woman who were not yet married simply did not discuss strong emotions.

Speaking of Lucy, why hadn't he thought of her more often? She was always on his mind in Australia; why not now? The only answer he could think of was that she was dead and he had changed. Maybe, he reasoned, Lucy had mostly been a clean, pure ideal he needed to keep him sane in Australia. Maybe anything there had been between a naive young man named Benjamin and a silly young woman named Lucy was gone now. And maybe, just maybe, that was really okay.

That was it, Sweeney Todd decided. He had to make things right again with Mrs. Lovett. But how?

Downstairs, Mrs. Lovett was feeling miserable. Yes, that proposal was absurd, but still, the man she loved- who had never exactly been good at expressing his feelings- had asked her to marry him. She could have at least been a little gentler, shown him where he went wrong, then maybe let him try again. Especially since, now that she thought of it, she'd had to ask Albert if he loved her when he popped the question, and he'd said "Sure I do. You're a right fine gal." At least Sweeney hadn't called her a "gal."

Maybe she ought to get away for a while, she thought. But how? Then she remembered her Aunt Jane and Uncle Freddy were leaving tomorrow for a trip to the seashore. They'd invited her along, and at first she'd said no, she had to work, but now . . . yes, she decided, a week's worth of healthy sea air would do her a world of good.

The sun had just barely risen as she pulled out her old trunk, wrote a quick note to Mr. Todd (carefully and in her best handwriting, because this was an important letter), left it by his door, and went to tell her aunt and uncle that she would be accompanying them after all.

Upstairs, Sweeney Todd had prepared a whole apology speech for Mrs. Lovett, but when he opened his door he found she had gone, and left him a note. The note said she was going on a brief holiday, and implored him not to use any "creative business tactics" until she got back. Now what was he going to do? Then he saw the trunk and had an idea: he would write her a letter and hide it in her luggage! Perfect!

But then, he reasoned, a letter alone really wasn't enough. Sweeney Todd did not go halfway with his revenge; why should he with this? But who would know something she would like?

Acting on sudden inspiration, he raced down to the print shop, burst open the door, and said, "Which one of you is Toby the Street Urchin?" Lord, he thought, I shouldn't have said that. It made me sound like a bank robber or something.

Fortunately, a small, chipper-looking boy poked his head up in the crowded shop and said, "That would be me, sir. 'Ow can I 'elp you?"

"Do you know Mrs. Lovett, the lady who runs the pie shop a few doors down?"

"'Course I know Auntie Nellie, I used to be her assistant," the boy said rather proudly.

"Well," said Sweeney Todd; this really was a bit embarassing, "what does she- rather, I mean- what are some things she really likes?"

"Sir," said the boy, smirking a bit, "are you and Auntie Nellie . . ."

"Yes, yes, just answer the question!" Next thing he knew, the little twerp would start singing, "Sweeney and Nellie, sitting in a tree . . ."

"Well, sir, her favorite sweets are-"

"Yes, yes, I know, she likes triple-cream toffees. But it can't be candy, or flowers either." He had already decided that both of those would be damaged to easily in the trunk.

The strange man with the wild hair immediately went up in Toby's esteem. Anyone who bothered to find out Auntie Nellie's favorite sweets had to have honorable intentions. "Well, sir, when we used to go to the market together, we'd always pass the jewelry store, and she'd look at this silver locket in the window and say 'if only.' I reckon she loves that necklace, she just never had the money for it."

Perfect! "Excellent!" said Sweeney Todd, turning to go. Then he realized he really ought to thank the boy. "You're a good lad," he said pressing a shilling into his hand, "and the next time you stop by the pie shop, tell Mrs. Lovett that Mr. Todd said to give you a nice tall glass of gin, on the house."

"Thanks sir! That's right kind of ye!"

Sweeney Todd rushed down to the jewelry store by the market and bought the locket, which really was quite lovely, sterling silver with violets etched into it ("I'm sure your sweetheart will love it," the shopkeeper had said). While he was in the neighborhood, he also bought some really fine writing paper, because this was an important letter.

_Dear Mrs. Lovett, _he started._ I feel you must know that despite my behavior last night, I hold you in the highest regard . . ._ No, no, no! Too stiff! He didn't think like that, why should he write like that? He crumpled the first page and started over.

_Dear Mrs. Lovett, I know I made a complete fool of myself last night, and I am sorry for that. I also feel that there is something you may not know that you might find important: I love you. It's as simple as that. In a world full of darkness you make me smile. You are not like anyone else. You are my light. Naturally, I do not expect any response or reciprocation, but never the less I felt you ought to know. Faithfully yours, S. Todd_

_P. S. Enclosed is a small token of my esteem. You'll make it beautiful._

There, he thought, three hours and many sheets of paper later, that seems alright. It had taken everything in him to write that out, and he wasn't sure he could go through with putting it in her trunk. But this was no time to be a coward.

He had just sealed the envelope and tucked the letter between two dresses in the now-packed trunk when he saw Mrs. Lovett walk in, wearing a traveling outfit.

"Well, Mr. T, my carriage should be here any minute, so I'd best be off," she said, clicking the trunk shut.

"Have a good trip, Mrs. Lovett," he said, taking her hand.

She looked into those delicious dark eyes she loved and saw sadness, fear, and also hope. She squeezed his hand involuntarily and said, "You take care, Mr. T."

They stood like that for a moment, hands intertwined, eyes locked, and then the carriage pulled up in front of the shop and she was gone, off into the distance.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys, sorry it's been a few days. Verity knows she is stealing this idea from funkyflamingo, but it was just such a good idea, and might lure some of her non-reviewing readers into leaving a review: I have a lil' ol' question for y'all (sorry, Scarlett O'Hara moment. Deep breath. Moment over). Today's is going to be pretty unimaginative, but hey, I use my creative juices for the story. Do you have a favorite animal? If so, what? I like hummingbirds, seals, lobsters (although, much as it pains me, I do eat them. They're just too yummy), and this thing called a pangolin I saw at the zoo, which is weird but adorable, just like me! Thanks for answering and enjoy the chapter!**

As the carriage rumbled away towards the sea, Mrs. Lovett looked out the window and sighed. Why was she doing this? Here she was, her heart was breaking, and she was in a carriage tumbling away from the man she loved. Yes, she was pretty sure this wasn't the cleverest of strategies, but here she was.

It was crazy, how much she loved Mr. Todd. How much she loved his voice, and how eloquent he always was, and how intense he was, and the way they fit together, and that look he sometimes gave her. Not to mention the fact that she had never been so attracted to anyone in her life. Oh how she adored him, despite or even because of his flaws, and the revenge, and all of that. And she had screwed it all up. Much as she tried to fight it, a steady river of tears was streaming down her face as they left London.

"Something the matter, love?" asked Aunt Jane. Uncle Freddy put down the paper he was reading and turned in his seat to look at her. People say that couples often start to look like each other after they've been married a long time, and that was certainly the case with Aunt Jane and Uncle Freddy. Both on the short side, with round, soft, gently wrinkled pink faces, they vaguely resembled English bulldogs, but the friendly sort, not ones that bite.

"Oh nothing, just my allergies," said Mrs. Lovett. "You know how it is in the summer."

"I say, that's dreadful," said Uncle Freddy. "Good thing you're coming with us, get a bit of healthy sea air in you," then he harrumphed loudly and went back to pursuing his newspaper, occasionally muttering something unintelligible about Parliament or the price of meat (Mrs. Lovett couldn't resist a grin at that one).

"Ooh yes, and there are some fine manors out by the sea that give tours in the summer, and we'll have to poke our heads in to at least a few of them," cooed Aunt Jane. "And tonight we're having dinner with an old friend of your uncle's, Colonel Tudsbury, and there'll be a few young officers from his regimen there too. You know what they say about a man in uniform, eh Nellie?" she said with a wink.

"You are so undoubtedly my mother's sister," said Mrs. Lovett with a laugh.

The ride to the seashore took longer than any of them was expecting, especially since Aunt Jane had insisted that they all stop at a little tearoom for lunch, and then proceeded to spend an hour discussing with the owner all of the_ fascinating _differences between various companies blends of orange pekoe. At least the food (roast beef and Roquefort cheese sandwiches, chips with vinegar, fresh strawberries) had been good.

By the time they arrived at their inn, the Sign of the Seahorse, they were already late for dinner with Colonel Tudsbury.

"No time to unpack now, Nellie, we're late!" cried Aunt Jane.

"At least let me change into something decent, this is a right formal affair we're going to," said Mrs. Lovett, reaching for the lock on her trunk.

"What you're wearing will do just fine, now come on!" insisted Aunt Jane, grabbing her arm.

When they arrived at the Colonel's, it was clear Aunt Jane had been right; cocktails in the parlor were already winding down. They only had time to meet Colonel Tudsbury himself, a large, affable fellow with a booming voice and a round, ruddy face, before sitting down to dinner.

Dinner was roast leg of lamb, which was palatable, if overcooked, some perfectly pleasant grilled vegetables, bread, and for dessert a strawberry shortcake that seemed to disintegrate in your mouth. _Even I can make better pastry than this,_ thought Mrs. Lovett, prodding the cake forlornly.

After dinner there was dancing, and while Mrs. Lovett quite enjoyed doing the two-step with the bland but sweet young man who had sat next to her at dinner and made a brave stab at conversation ("Lovely weather around these parts" "Yes, quite lovely"), she decided she would sit the next one, a foxtrot, out.

However, no sooner had she sat down then she heard a dubiously accented voice ask, "May I have thees dance?"

The speaker appeared to be one of the Colonel's regimen, but he was certainly not the usual, blandly good-looking, interchangeable military man. However, this change was not for the better. The man was stocky, with oily, slicked-back brown hair and mustache, and he had adorned his uniform with various gaudy badges and ribbons. He smelled of hair tonic.

"Corporal Pirelli," he introduced himself in a questionable Italian accent. "And you are?"

"Danielle Lovett," she muttered, getting up for the inevitable dance and wishing her beloved Mr. T were here to save her again.

As they danced, Corporal Pirelli spoke. "Are you the Meeses Lovett who runs the pie shop on Fleet Street under Meester Todd's barber shop?"

"'Ow'd you know that?" blurted Mrs. Lovett, taken aback. How had this strange (in every sense of the word) man heard of her?

"I have many many many friends in London," he said, dismissive.

"Well, that is me, and Mr. T rents 'is shop upstairs from me."

"Then I must warn you, principessa, that Meester Todd is not a gentleman.

Mrs. Lovett's instinctive thought was to say, no shit Sherlock, we cut people up and bake 'em into meat pies, but she decided that would not be wise. Then she noticed that, as he was talking, Corporal Pirelli's hand had slipped from the small of her back to rest squarely on her bottom.

She was tempted to smack him just then, because where did he get off and what right did he have to judge Mr. T, after all he's been through?, but again decided against it. Instead she just smiled and said, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Tell you what, next time you're in London, pop by Mr. T's shop for a shave on the house. Tell him Nellie downstairs said to give you the _special_ treatment."

"Certainly, principessa, and thank you. I have been meaning to have a talk with Meester Todd."

When Mrs. Lovett arrived back at the inn, she was so exhausted from her tempestuous day that she collapsed onto her bed straight asleep, without even bothering to open her trunk for a nightgown.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey gang! Verity is so happy with all her wonderful readers, and has another question for them: Are you morning people, or night people? I'm a night owl, for sure. And now, the eagerly anticipated (I hope) chapter nine!**

"Nellie! Wake up! Hurry up and get changed, we're set to visit a manor in an hour!" This shrill call, delivered by Aunt Jane outside her door, was, Nellie Lovett reflected, not the best way to start a day.

She dragged herself out of bed and over to her trunk, taking a moment to remember why exactly she was in her extremely rumpled traveling dress, and opened the trunk. She pulled out a dress for the day, a pretty white linen thing with blue flowers printed on it, and then her eye caught on a heavy, cream-colored envelope.

"For Danielle Lovett," it said on the front, in a hand she knew all too well. As she prepared for the day, combing out her hair and washing her face, Mrs. Lovett mulled over the possible contents of this letter, and came to one awful conclusion: Mr. Todd was writing to say he was leaving Fleet Street.

It made sense, she thought, after how she'd treated him. And he certainly had the money to work in a nicer neighborhood. She had felt something jingle in the envelope; that must be any rent he'd owed her.

As obvious as this seemed, she couldn't think of anything she wanted less to be true. Sure things might be awkward between them now and again, but if she couldn't see him every day, even just to bring him dinner and exchange a few polite words, well . . . she wondered how she'd get by.

Just as she was about to face the music and open the treacherous letter, her aunt's sharp knock rang out again. "Come on, love, we're going to be late!"

"Coming!" she called, shoving the letter into her pocket. She could always open it while they were out.

"So," Mrs. Lovett asked, once she was out in the hall, "what manor are we going to?" And then her aunt, her sweet, well-meaning aunt, dropped the bombshell.

"Todd Hall," she said.

A Royal Shakespearean Actor could not have pulled off as fine a performance as Mrs. Lovett at that moment, appearing every inch cool and composed, while inside worrying she might faint. She held this performance all the way to Todd Hall, the manor of the man she loved, whom she had probably driven away in her stupidity, wavering only slightly once they reached the manor.

Todd Hall was the most beautiful building Danielle Lovett had ever seen, and she was not alone in her opinion. The manor stood facing the sea, grand as a palace, surrounded by beautifully landscaped gardens, approached by carriage of a winding, sandy, tree-lined path, standing proud and tall on this stunning sunny day. The moment she saw it, Mrs. Lovett felt her eyes well up with tears, and let out a small sigh, of something between pride and agony, that thankfully went unnoticed by her aunt and uncle.

Once inside, a grandmotherly housekeeper showed them everything, from medieval tapestries in the billiard room to French furniture in the parlor that would make Louis XIV weep with envy to the glistening gold ballroom. At one point, while her relatives were swooning over a chandelier, Mrs. Lovett pulled the housekeeper aside for a question.

"And do you know Todd Hall's new owner, Mr. Sweeney Todd?"

"Why of course, dearie, Sweeney knows all the staff, and 'e's right good to us."

"And has he ever told you of his . . . past?"

The housekeeper looked into Mrs. Lovett's eyes and realized that they were both privy to the same secret. "I raised Ben Barker like me own son," she said quietly. "I know he's gone, but that feeling lives on, like a mum and her son, between me and Mr. Todd. No mother could love her son more than I love 'im, nor could they ask for a better son to love."

Mrs. Lovett was quiet for a moment, which only seemed respectful, and then she dared to ask, "Has Mr. Todd said anything to you recently about . . . changing his London residence?"

The kindly old woman looked confused. "No," she said, "'E always seemed quite content on Fleet Street, even with the, well, the project he's working on."

Mrs. Lovett figured the "project" she referred to was the revenge, not the pies, but that still didn't explain anything. "Excuse me," she said, claiming she needed some air, and ducked into one of the gardens. She opened the letter.

That day, Danielle Lovett cried like she had never cried before, from shock, from relief, and most of all, from pure, unadulterated joy. He loved her. She was his light. As if that wasn't more than she had ever dared hope for, he had even gotten her a present. It was her necklace. But how did he know? He must have asked Toby . . . at the image of her Mr. Todd (for he really was hers!) going to the print shop to ask Toby what sort of present she'd like, she was crying all over again.

The human body really is a remarkable thing, because once Mrs. Lovett had pulled herself together, she was able to go back to the manor and finish the tour, and then go for a walk along the pier and eat saltwater taffy and talk cheerfully and intelligently with her aunt and uncle and some friends of theirs they met later that day, while in her mind, all she could hear was three words, three wondrous, glorious words, repeating themselves over and over again:

_He loves me._


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow, chapter ten already! New question: if you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be? I haven't seen enough of the world to decide yet, although I think I'd want a summer home in the South of France, and another city home someplace else (for starters . . . .) Thanks again for being the very best readers in all the world, Verity thinks you all rock, and enjoy the chapter!**

Mrs. Lovett stayed in that blissful trance for all the rest of the day, and all the next morning, choosing to sleep late and have breakfast at the inn while her aunt and uncle went out to poke around in a few shops. They got back just as she was scraping up the last of a bowl of porridge with brown sugar and cinnamon. Her aunt clearly had some exciting news, because she was sporting a gargantuan grin and looked ready to burst.

"We have another dinner party tonight!" she trumpeted before Mrs. Lovett even had a chance to ask. "And Nellie, why didn't you tell me you knew such a fine gentleman? After we'd been to 'is house and everything!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Lovett, baffled.

"Mr. Sweeney Todd!" Aunt Jane practically screamed, right there in the inn's dining room. "We ran into 'im at the shops, 'e's a right dapper fellow, by the way, and when I 'eard someone say who 'e was I just _had_ to say something about that fine house of 'is, and so we got to talking, and the moment I mentioned we was 'ere with you, 'e sort of jumped and said 'e knew you from London, and then invited us all to dinner. Isn't it just grand?" she finished with a smile like a flourish.

"Yes, indeed it is," said Mrs. Lovett, utterly gobsmacked.

So what was Sweeney Todd doing back at Todd Hall? Actually, it had all started with his wanting to kill Cousin Andrew.

Sweeney Todd had been managing tolerably not killing any customers while Mrs. Lovett was away. Sure, there were a few times that were very difficult, but usually he would feel much better after throwing something once the customer had left, preferably a dish for that wonderful shattering sound. Besides, he was kept well occupied trying not to think about Mrs. Lovett, or what was in her suitcase. Many days, he noticed, he was so involved in juggling thinking about revenge and not thinking about her, that he barely had time to worry about casual murder.

Then, one bright and chipper Tuesday, Cousin Andrew came in for a shave.

"My good sir," his mealy voice wafted through the shop, "I was told that I could get a superior shave here, and I must say, I will settle only for a superior shave."

Why did this man seem so familiar? Sweeney Todd wondered. He was obnoxious, yes, but then London was full of obnoxious men. Then it hit him. The moist man! Well, he supposed he would try to be polite, as this was some relation of Mrs. Lovett's, however unpleasant he may be.

"Sir," he said, dreading having to shave the man's permanently damp face, "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance, Mrs. Danielle Lovett?"

"Oh, Cousin Nellie," Andrew said with a roll of his eyes as Mr. Todd prepared the lather and sharpened his razor against a leather strap. "Foolish girl. I offered her everything a woman could want- financial security, social standing, and of course an exemplary husband- and she refused. It's downright unnatural, and I dare say she'll get what's coming to her one of these days."

Sweeney Todd could feel his temperature rising, but said nothing and continued the shave. After all, he was hardly a knight in shining armor, ready to rush in and save the fair maiden's honor.

Cousin Andrew said nothing for a moment, then spoke again. "Sir, you really ought to start at the cheekbones you know. I'm not paying you to get it wrong."

That was the final straw. He could take jabs at Mrs. Lovett, or insults to his shaving, but both? With a fresh razor right there at the neck? "Sir," he said, whirling Andrew around in his chair to face him, "If you were not a relative of Mrs. Lovett's, or I was even a hair more ruthless than I am, I assure you that you would be in an extremely uncomfortable circumstance right now, one from which there is no return. Now stand up, walk towards the door, and never show your face in my shop again. Am I clear?"

Andrew, scared out of his wits, got up and bolted towards the door. Only halfway there, he stopped. "You're only halfway done with the shave, you know."

Sweeney Todd walked towards him, delighting in the fear on his face, and tucked the point of his razor under his chin. "Do you think," he said, voice barely a whisper, "that there is anything I care less about than the state of you whiskers? Now GET OUTT!"

With a small, frightened yelp, Cousin Andrew was out the door.

That, Sweeney Todd reflected, was a very close shave. Too close, in fact. Perhaps he should get out of town, to avoid temptation. But where? Then it hit him. Todd Hall! He loved George Todd's old place, and he owned it now. It was perfect.

Everything had been going just fine until he met those people in the shops. He was in a fair mood, so he spoke with them for a few minutes. Then, when they mentioned who their niece was, some demon within him possessed him to invite them to a dinner party. So now he had to conjure up a guest list from somewhere, not to mention food and music and such.

Thankfully that had all been cobbled together fairly easily, but it was still all rather a mess, he thought. What would happen when he saw Mrs. Lovett? What should he say? What would she say?

_If she wears the locket,_ he thought, _or at least doesn't try to give it back to me, that will be enough. If I can just have that, we won't need to say anything. It'll be enough for me._

Mrs. Lovett, meanwhile, was in a similar panic on the way to Todd Hall. Would he mention the letter? Should she? She had spent the whole day shopping, finally coming up with a midnight blue gown with a low neckline that looked nice with her fair skin and red hair and new silver locket.

As Mrs. Lovett and her aunt and uncle entered the grand ballroom at Todd Hall where the party was being held, her eyes caught those of Sweeney Todd, standing atop the ballroom stairs, looking devilishly handsome as ever in another dark suit. Scared as she was, she couldn't help looking at him and thinking how very much she loved him.

Sweeney Todd's first thought was that Mrs. Lovett had never looked prettier. His second thought was that she was wearing the locket. For a moment they stood there, at opposite ends of the room, eyes locked, and then they rushed towards each other,

and for a moment neither of them thought about letters or lockets or meat pies or revenge,

and for a moment they were just two people, happy as could be to see the person they loved.

They met in the center of the room, clasped hands, smiling like the happiest people alive, and for a moment time seemed to stop. Mr. Todd broke the trance first, quickly adopting his haughty grin. "Welcome back to Todd Hall, Mrs. Lovett. Would you do me the honor of this dance?"

Mrs. Lovett, still a little dazed, nodded as he led her onto the dance floor. The dance playing happened to be a waltz, like their first, and, like their first, at first neither of them said a thing. Then, to break the silence, Mrs. Lovett spoke.

"So, I received a letter . . ."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi guys, sorry about the minor cliffhanger last chapter. I just got back from the beach (by the sea si-i-i-ide, by the beautiful sea), which leads me to ask: do you prefer the beach or the mountains? I am a beach girl, all the way. Maybe it has to do with my fear of heights, but mountains give me the creeps, even really beautiful ones. Thanks for reviewing, you all make my day every time! Also, as a treat for putting up with the cliffhanger, Auntie Verity has thrown in a murder (of a real character, not just a hapless customer) in this chapter. Don't worry, though, this is the fun sort of murder, if that makes any sense. Enjoy!**

"So I received a letter . . ." Mrs. Lovett started, when an uncomfortably familiar voice cut in.

"Excuse a-me, but may I have a word with Meester Todd?"

_Oh Lord, not him, _thought Sweeney Todd and Nellie Lovett simultaneously. When Sweeney Todd had told Colonel Tudsbury to bring his regimen, he hadn't counted on this unpleasant-looking and oddly familiar man. As for Mrs. Lovett, she was just hoping never to see this man, or allow him anywhere near her rear, ever again after the Colonel's dinner party.

"No," said Sweeney Todd pleasantly. "You may not have a word. As you can see, I'm dancing with the lady."

"I really must insist," said Corporal Pirelli, looking like he was toying with the idea of causing a nasty scene.

Sweeney Todd shot one final, sad look at Mrs. Lovett and said, "Alright, but let's go out to the garden to talk, it's rather loud in here."

"Very good, Meester Todd."

"Wait!" cried Mrs. Lovett suddenly. "I'm going too." She turned to the corporal. "Whatever you 'ave to say to 'im can be heard in front of me as well." The Cockney in Mrs. Lovett's accent always got a little stronger when she was angry or nervous or both.

Sweeney Todd looked slightly startled- the bloody ninny, as if he didn't know I'd always want to watch out for him, as if he didn't know exactly how much I love him, thought Mrs. Lovett- but also rather pleased. Corporal Pirelli looked on the verge of protesting, but just shrugged and led them both outside.

"Mr. Todd," he said once they had reached the garden, his accent suddenly abandoning its dubious home in Italy and moving firmly to Liverpool. "Or should I say Mr. Barker? That's right, I knows everything, had my suspicions soon as I heard someone had come to take over Todd Hall. Or don't you remember me?"

"Honestly no, I don't," said Mr. Todd, doing an admirable job of covering his shock at hearing his former name.

"Danny Peters, or Corporal Antonio Pirelli, as of late," he said with a sneering mock bow. "At your service."

Mrs. Lovett watched in amazement as a look of understanding spread across Sweeney Todd's face. Of course! Danny Peters, the other lad who had sometimes worked with him at George Todd's shop, doing various odd jobs because George had never trusted him with a razor. Nasty little thing he had been, really, Sweeney Todd remembered. Always stealing a shilling when he thought you wouldn't notice, and very rude.

"Now," Peters/Pirelli spoke again, "in return for my keeping your dirty little secret, _Mr. Todd_, I expect half your earnings, and ten percent of the Todd family fortune. Do we have a deal?"

"Now really," started Sweeney Todd, fighting desperately to ignore the rage building within him, "I'm sure even you can be reasonable-"

"You're in no position to talk about reasonable!" snarled the so-called corporal. He turned to face Mrs. Lovett. "Now you and your little whore-"

WHAM!

Hardly realizing what he was doing, Sweeney Todd had punched Danny Peters or Antonio Pirelli or whoever hard on the jaw, sending him reeling back, clutching his jaw in pain. He stumbled backwards, hitting his head on one of the hard stone benches. There was a cracking sound, and Mrs. Lovett gasped as she saw a fine trickle of blood move down towards the base of his skull, gleaming inky black in the night.

The two of them rushed over to see what had happened. "No pulse," Mrs. Lovett said, feeling very nervous indeed. How were they going to get out of this one, and with that ballroom full of people right there inside? "'E's dead."

Sweeney Todd knew he should be every bit as anxious as Mrs. Lovett, but he didn't. He always had an adrenaline rush after killing a customer, but this was different. Maybe because he'd known this ma, and disliked him, and had every reason to hit him, he felt . . . giddy.

"I always hated him," he said to Mrs. Lovett, half-laughing. "So did George, he just never had the heart to kick him out into the streets." Suddenly he let out a great shout of laughter. "George! Oh, he'd have definitely approved of this, and right here in his own house! You'd have loved him, Nellie," he sad, voice uncharacteristic in how gentle it was. "He'd have loved you too, but then, it's rather hard not to." He was immediately furious with himself for letting the intensity of the situation get to him like that, for letting that slip.

Mrs. Lovett had been trying to stay focused on dealing with the body and all, but the moment he called her Nellie, she just melted. It really wasn't healthy, she thought, how much she loved him, despite it all. Perhaps even because of it all. "You were brilliant, by the way," she whispered, looking into those dark eyes that made her swoon. "Defending me honor like that."

"Nellie-" he started.

"I know," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it once. And so they both understood.

"Now," said Sweeney Todd, getting back to business. "About the body . . ." suddenly, a light bulb went off just above his head. "You know, since they had worked so hard today, what with the last minute party, and since the roast lamb and all that is on a buffet line anyway, I gave the staff the night off."

The same light bulb was now balanced over Nellie Lovett's head. "Help me get 'im to the kitchen!" she said with a grin.

Over the next hour and a half or so, Sweeney Todd and Nellie Lovett were a credit to their profession, finding some premade pie dough in the icebox, chopping up the body, and still making occasional appearances at the party so that no one could wonder about their whereabouts. Fortunately, Pirelli had been such an unpleasant guest that no one noticed or cared that he was missing. Then, just as the guests were starting to crave the little iced cakes that always come at the end of a dinner party, their dashing host tapped a fork to his wineglass, signaling for quiet.

"And now, my welcome guests, before our dessert, I am pleased to announce that we have a special treat to tempt your jaded palates. All the way from London, I am proud to present the pride of Fleet Street, Mrs. Lovett's meat pies!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys, Verity's back! Verity is terribly sorry about the delay (what? study for finals? when there are important fanfics to write? ludicrous!), but as a reward for your patience, darling readers, I have a special treat. my longest chapter yet, and I'm not sure this counts as a real and true official lemon, but things do get a little citrusy. Enjoy!**

Needless to say, the meat pies were a smash hit.

"Marvelous flavor, dearie, and so juicy too!" "There's a spice in here I can't quite detect; usually I have a skill for this sort of thing, do tell me your secret?" Mrs. Lovett had never received so many compliments in her life, and from near-perfect strangers to boot.

"Oh, I can't ever tell that, it's an old family secret," she said with a grin to the older, portly gentleman who had asked for her secret. "But I will tell you this: secret's all to do with herbs, and one little trick is to be _extremely_ careful with your coriander. Tricky little spice, that is."

"Coriander? Really?" the man said with evident interest. "I would never have thought of that. Maybe _that's_ why the meat is so tender . . ." he went off, muttering to himself, and Nellie Lovett stifled a laugh and turned to face her admirers once more.

Though he wasn't parading the fact around quite as much, Sweeney Todd was having an excellent time as well. He was a man who favored high drama, and this evening had been full of it- as he disposed of the scoundrel, came to the aid of a fair lady, and played the gallant host while conducting a grand deception. He allowed himself the luxury of a small, ironic smile. Even in his head the words sounded ridiculous, like something a nine-year-old Ben Barker might have thought after reading _The Count of Monte Cristo, _which he had loved as a child for all the cloak-and-dagger adventure_._ These days he tended to sympathize with . . . other aspects of that story. But still, though. He supposed anyone might have thought of the evening that way, but in reality his rare talent for seeing the poetry in things, and on a grand scale, was one of the many qualities Nellie Lovett for one found remarkable about him. One of the many qualities she adored.

Speaking of Mrs. Lovett . . . it had started to rain, and suddenly Sweeney Todd politely excused himself from conversation with Colonel Tudsbury ("By the way, have you seen that corporal? Italian fellow? No? Ah, well. Must have had too much to drink and run off to be sick, or else gone to chase after some kitchen maid. Rather nasty fellow, really, and a terrible soldier.") and made his way over to where Mrs. Lovett was politely explaining the proper way to roll pie crust to a baroness who must have been at least eighty.

"Dance with me," he said, forgetting all formality. It was not a request, and Mrs. Lovett did not need to be told twice as, smiling, she followed the man she loved out onto the dance floor.

Neither of them could say what dance it was they were moving in sync to. It could have been a waltz or a tango, Charleston or foxtrot. All they knew as they danced that night was that the music was bright and free in the air, and that they were together, and for a moment nothing else mattered.

It was in that moment, when a crash of thunder shook the whole manor and made the guests jump (though they had never discussed it, both Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett had a love of violent thunderstorms), Mrs. Lovett thought that this was the grandest, the most glorious, the happiest moment of her life.

At the precise moment that she was basking in her joy, Sweeney Todd was having a similar, but far more unsettling thought. He thought, for the briefest flash of a moment, that he didn't care what had happened in his life, or what had happened when he was Benjamin for that matter, he was glad that he had ended up here; regardless of anything in his past, he was glad that he had made his way to this moment. It was only in his mind for a fraction of a second, but it was there and he would not forget it.

However, all too soon the dance was over, the iced petit fours eaten, and the ball at a close. Both Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd would have been content to end their night of triumph, go their separate ways, and pick up again back on Fleet Street in a few days, save for one thing: the storm outside was still raging in full force. This was no issue for most of the guests, who had arrived in smart, well-maintained private carriages with coats of arms on the doors that would have no trouble navigating the storm. But Mrs. Lovett and her aunt and uncle weren't rich, and had arrived in a rickety rented carriage whose unscrupulous driver had decamped for the local pub at the first drizzle, leaving Mrs. Lovett and family stranded.

It was at this point that Mr. Todd did something that forever cemented Mrs. Lovett's complete and unconditional love for him: he invited them to stay the night. Mrs. Lovett immediately and happily accepted.

Why did I do that? Sweeney Todd thought almost immediately after issuing the invitation. Really, there had been no other option, but still . . . only two guest rooms were ready for use, and those were the big one in the East Wing and the one with the blue fleur-de-lis wallpaper next to his own bedroom. And really, it only made sense to give the married couple the bigger, more private room, which put Mrs. Lovett next to him. And besides that . . .

"Mrs. Lovett," he asked, figuring the married people had their own way of working these things out, "I'm afraid we don't have any, well, any nightclothes for ladies here. If the maids had been here, one might have lent you something, but as it is . . ."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. T," she laughed. He was so cute when he got all flustered like that! "I'll just sleep in me slip. 'Night, love." And, hazarding a kiss on his cheek, she went off to her room.

Once safely enclosed in his bedroom, Sweeney Todd began battling himself not to go next door to seduce Mrs. Lovett. If just loving her from semi-afar had distracted him from his revenge, imagine what sleeping with her would do! On the other hand . . . he just couldn't quite get rid of that nagging voice in hi head that said _Why not? You love her. She loves you. You both want it desperately. And besides, you were planning on making an honest woman of her once you killed the judge anyway._ Why did that voice have to make so much damn sense?

I know what I'll do, he decided. It's been an intense night for both of us, and I know I certainly can't sleep; maybe she's having trouble as well. I'll just go check up on her, and if she's awake- or if I should be so unfortunate as to wake her -we might go to another room, have a glass of wine to clear our heads, and . . . talk.

_Yes, I'm sure you'll have some fascinating philosophical discussions_, said the irritating voice in his head. Sweeney just smiled, knowing it was right and not really caring.

Meanwhile, in the room next door, the course of action seemed obvious to Mrs. Lovett. It was a glorious stormy night, and she was at the lavish manor of the man she loved, and he had looked incredibly sexy that evening, and they were both adults who had lost a spouse, so the social conventions of the time were a little relaxed in their case, and their rooms were next to each other. Of course she would pay him a visit. The only thing that had taken her so long was getting ready. Should I put my dress and the locket back on? No, too spooky. Should I wear lipstick, or would it just smudge everywhere? But then, she rather _liked_ the idea of Mr. T all smudged with her red lipstick . . .

Of course, Mrs. Lovett thought, I won't be pushy or unladylike. I'll just stop by his room to see if he was having trouble sleeping, and if he's awake- or I should be so unfortunate as to wake him- . . .

And so, as was inevitable, the two of them ran into each other in the hallway.

Sweeney Todd- dressed in black linen pajamas and a loosely tied red dressing gown- blinked at Mrs. Lovett. Mrs. Lovett- wearing her slip and the lipstick she'd decided was a good idea- blinked at Sweeney Todd. And then together, more perfectly than could be choreographed, they burst out laughing.

They stood like that for a long time, laughing until their stomachs hurt, until suddenly, Sweeney's hands ran their way up Mrs. Lovett's arms, coming to hold her face. Her hands, meanwhile, had somehow found their way to rest on his strong shoulders. They both leaned in a little closer.

The moment their lips met, everything was lost. It was like a fire, every bit as urgent and as passionate as the two times before, but even better now, because there was something new: lightness of heart. Whatever questionable morals the two of them dealt with every day, they both knew that this at least was right.

Sweeney started to walk them towards his bedchamber when Mrs. Lovett- practical as always -stopped suddenly. "Shouldn't we be worried 'bout my aunt and uncle hearing us?" she asked.

Sweeney Todd leaned in closer. "Doesn't the danger make it even better?" he whispered into her ear and Nellie Lovett, feeling her legs tremble with desire, had to agree.

Somehow they stumbled into his bedroom, hearing the wind whirl and the thunder crash just outside the window. Sweeney lifted Nellie off her feet and threw her onto the canopy bed, climbing on top of her.

"I've wanted you for so long," he whispered. Suddenly she had flipped him over and was on all fours on top of him.

"You have no idea," she said, diving hungrily at his mouth.

He flipped her back so he was on top again, undoing the buttons on her slip and forcing himself not to rip the whole mess off in one rough motion. She, meanwhile, had thrown off his dressing gown and was slowly unbuttoning his pajama top, loving the feel of his smooth hard chest and tracing over a single long thin scar just below his heart.

His lips slid down from hers, tasting her neck as she sighed in pleasure. She slid down his pajama trousers and he came in hard and fast, taking her as they both cried out in ecstasy for more, more . . .

"Danielle!" he panted, and hearing him use her full name only sent Mrs. Lovett deeper into the throes of passion, screaming as she called his name.

When it was over, and they lay together in the peaceful afterglow with her head resting on his shoulder, Sweeney Todd had that same strange thought again, only clearer and more distinct: I don't care what happened to me before; I'm glad it brought me here. With her.

And Mrs. Lovett, smiling to herself, thought No, I was wrong earlier tonight. This moment is the happiest. This one.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey gang! Thank you all for the lovely reviews that make your Auntie Verity smile. By the way, I just realized why I never get anonymous reviews: clever Verity accidently disabled them! But I enabled them again, so it's all good. Also, new question: what's your favorite ice cream flavor? Mine's mint chip, but I also like coffee. And now, on to lucky chapter 13! (sorry if it's kinda filler, but I had to for the story's sake, and there's something major next chapter)**

Aunt Jane had never been known for her powers of observation, but even she was pleased to see how cheerful her niece looked at breakfast that morning. Even in her dark blue dress from last night, she was all smiles and had some color in her cheeks, and always looking over to share a quick grin with their host. He seemed in a good mood too, charming man, really, and so handsome too, offering them seconds on toast and eggs and kippers, and putting his hand on Nellie's. So nice that those two got along. It must be the healthy sea air, thought Aunt Jane, that's got the two of them so chipper.

"What a storm last night!" said Uncle Freddy, glancing out a picture window at the now-perfect weather. "I haven't heard wind howl like that for twenty years!"

"Oh I know," agreed Aunt Jane, turning to Nellie and Sweeney. "We thought we heard something like a man and a woman screaming last night, but it must 'ave been that dreadful wind."

For whatever reason, Nellie and Mr. Todd both blushed.

"Well, Auntie Jane, weren't we supposed to head back to London today?" asked Mrs. Lovett, eager to change the subject. Frankly, though, she was shocked her aunt and uncle hadn't been able to figure out that something had happened last night the moment she sat down to breakfast, what with the grin she couldn't keep off her face and how she and Mr. T kept finding little excuses to touch each other, her running her fingers through his delicious dark hair as she sat down, him putting his hand on hers while they ate.

"Well we were supposed to, but I can't see 'ow we can, what with our trunks still being at the inn and us 'aving no carriage."

"I have three carriages here," said Sweeney Todd suddenly. "I was planning to go back to London today myself, and I'd be happy to lend you a carriage. It can swing by the inn you were staying at, then drive you straight to London." Now why hadn't he thought of that last night? he asked himself irritably. _You had a reason_, said the voice in his head from the night before. For once he was in too good a mood to argue with it. He did have a reason, and it was sitting next to him, wearing a dark blue dress.

_Always so thoughtful_, thought Mrs. Lovett, but she knew better than to say so. Instead she just said, "Thank you, Mr. Todd. That's very generous of you."

"Ooh, imagine, Freddy!" cooed Aunt Jane. "Arriving back in Cheapside with the Todd Hall crest on our carriage! Won't it be grand?"

"What?" said Uncle Freddy, looking up from his toast and jam. "Oh, yes, yes quite. Good show, Mr. Todd. Right decent of you."

An hour later, Mrs. Lovett and family were on the road headed for the inn, and Sweeney Todd was preparing to return to Fleet Street. Two hours after that, both parties were rumbling towards London, although Mr. Todd was traveling at a considerably faster pace (Aunt Jane had insisted they stop by the tea room again. "Ooh, I see you got in a few Oriental selections . . .").

As the air grew slowly grayer overhead, Mrs. Lovett stared out the window, smiling to herself and pondering what would come next. She supposed they might get married . . . Oh how much she'd love that, for him to be her husband, "till death do us part" and all. Also, it would be nice to be married, to have the whole world know how they felt. To be able to (she giggled at the thought) kiss him smack in the middle of London market, perhaps between the vegetable lady's stall and the jewelry shop, and have it be perfectly respectable. But then, Mr. T'd probably die of embarrassment if she did that . . . Mrs. Lovett decided she would think (think, fantasize, close enough) about that later. For now . . . what sort of flowers should she carry in her bouquet?

As Sweeney Todd approached the London skyline, he was relieved to find his thirst for revenge returning again. Only Sweeney Todd would worry that a weekend in which he killed a man- albeit by semi-accident -would make him go soft. But there was a danger, because while he was still in the country, all he could think about were things like Mrs. Lovett's eyes, and the day George Todd taught him how to fish for trout in a little brook by Todd Hall, and how a properly made cream trifle tasted (though you'd never guess it, Sweeney Todd actually knew a bit about cooking, although he was hopeless at baking and couldn't even make sugar cookies without somehow destroying them). He was feeling almost content, or even . . . happy. It was really quite disturbing.

Thankfully, as the carriage rolled into London, he could feel the vengeance coming back into his blood. He smiled as he muttered a little tune under his breath.

_There's a hole in the world like a great black pit . . ._

With one thing and another, it was late at night by the time Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd were back at Fleet Street with their luggage safely delivered to their rooms. Mrs. Lovett was just about to start the task of unpacking when she noticed Sweeney Todd had taken the first step upstairs. "Goodnight, Mr. T," she called.

He turned around and took a few steps towards her. "Goodnight, Mrs. Lovett." And then, though neither could say who started it, they were wrapped in a long, deep kiss.

Eventually, they broke apart with great reluctance (because here there really _was_ a danger of busybody neighbors hearing too much). "'Night Sweeney," said Mrs. Lovett, feeling a shy smile slide onto her face.

"'Night Nellie," said Sweeney Todd with a wink, and despite a few minor issues on the back burner (Mrs. Lovett's wanting to get married, Mr. T wanting to kill the judge, the occasional murdering someone and baking them into a pie), it seemed like for once everything might turn out okay at the barber's and the pie shop on Fleet Street.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys! Um . . . no real news from Verity's corner of the world, other than hooray for the official end of my school year, and many many sorries about the wait, but a new question: what's your favorite season? I'd probably say summer, because school's out and I have a summer birthday, but as far as weather goes, I prefer autumn. Thanks for answering and enjoy the chapter!**

The morning after their return from the seaside, Mrs. Lovett noticed that they were nearly out of flour down at the pie shop, and that simply would not do. It had been ages since she'd last been to the market, and it might be fun, especially if she was in the mood for some discreet bragging about her posh holiday (although her _favorite_ aspects of the trip she'd have to keep quiet about, even to her friends- at least until after the wedding) but first she had to say goodbye to Mr. T, of course.

She found him upstairs in the barber shop, sitting on the windowsill and staring darkly at the street. Sweeney Todd was brooding, no question about it. Maybe it was the contrast to how he'd felt at the seaside, but upon his return to London his thirst for revenge had grabbed him like a Venus flytrap, startling even him with its sudden intensity. Maybe it was because he'd remembered, all at once, that there was some good in the world that made him so livid about the judge, he mused. Maybe . . .

"Mr. T?" cut in Mrs. Lovett's voice. He drew his breath sharply. Why did she have to interrupt his brooding? "I was 'eaded out to the market and . . . You okay, Mr. T? You 'ave an odd look. What are you thinking about?"

When he spoke his voice was clipped and mildly irritated; he still stared at the street. "Oh, just revenge, the darkness of the world, that sort of thing."

Mrs. Lovett sighed and took a step closer to him. "Well I don't know so much about the darkness of the world, Mr. T," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "But remember that I love you. I love you more than anything else in the world, always have, just remember that."

He didn't say anything or look away from the window, but somehow his hand found hers, interlacing their fingers, and gave it a tight squeeze. And then, with a smile, she left for the market.

While Mrs. Lovett walked to the maret, she planned her wedding. Who to invite, what sort of dress to wear, what to serve (definitely not meat pies) and all the other details surrounding such an event. All of this put her in such a good mood that when she saw Anthony Hope talking to an older gentleman whose back was to her, she just smiled, waved, and went over to say hello, not noticing that the young sailor was wearing the expression of stupefied horror of one who is choking on a lobster while those around him watch with detached interest.

"Anthony!" she called merrily. "I 'aven't seen you since the ball! And who's your friend here?"

"Hello, Mrs. Lovett," Anthony squeaked, his high voice even higher than usual, managing a weak smile. "Judge Turpin was just telling me of his recent plans."

Judge Turpin! thought Mrs. Lovett, her eyes widening ever so slightly in shock. She had never met the judge, but had come to think of him as the devil himself. She had to say, maybe it was her personal prejudice, but he certainly looked unpleasant. A pompous, squinty look about him, and the way he ran his eyes up and down her body when he turned to look at her- and he nearly as old as her father! -was downright indecent.

"Well, Mrs.- Langley, was it? - I was just telling young Master Hope my excellent news." said Turpin, puffing up like a blowfish with self-importance, and not bothering to let Mrs. Lovett correct him about the name. "Aside from my latest professional accomplishments- I recently sentenced a seven-year-old who stole bread to life in prison -I have some exciting personal news."

He went on to say that he would be leaving tomorrow for a trip to the Orient. One final visit with the geishas of Japan, the harlots of India, etc., before his marriage to his ward, Johanna Barker, who was approximately the appropriate age to be his eldest granddaughter.

Mrs. Lovett could feel her face stretching into an expression identical to Anthony's, for his reason and for one of her own. The judge would be in the Orient for over a month. Imagine what a month of brooding and stewing and every so often doing in someone and making them into meat pies would do to her and poor Mr. T! Also . . . after all that time, who knew if he'd still love her? What if, after a whole month of brooding, he forgot about her? Or if they just . . . grew apart? No, she decided, I can't let that happen. And so, knowing it was most probably a lost and desperate attempt, she spoke.

"You know, sir, it's always important to look sharp when you travel, so they treat you right at hotels and the like. And sir, if'n you don't mind my being so bold as to say, your whiskers could do with a trim. Why don't you stop by my upstairs neighbor, Sweeney Todd, best barber in London. I'll even tell 'im to give you half price, you being such an estimable figure in the community."

Mrs. Lovett glared at Turpin for a fraction of a second as she noticed he'd been staring at her breasts the whole time she spoke, but was astonished to see him actually considering what she'd said. And even more astonished when he said "Todd, did you say? That name rings a bell, for some reason . . . ah, well. Hard to turn down a discount (this, thought Mrs. Lovett, from a man who once bought an entire city block to keep a man he disliked from buying a house on it), so you should expect me by this afternoon. And remember, I demand the best."

"Only the very best for you, sir," said Mrs. Lovett, inwardly roaring in triumph. Then she dashed back home to tell Sweeney. Oh, she did hope she hadn't just wrecked some grandiose scheme of his.

"Sweeney!" she called out, bursting into the shop upstairs. "I've got some news, I'm not sure if it's good or bad, but I tried my hardest and I just hope we'll be able to work it out." she paused to gasp for air, having run all the way there and blurted that whole speech out in a single breath.

"What is it?" asked Sweeney Todd, looking up from the razor he as absentmindedly polishing. He was really quite concerned, having never seen Mrs. Lovett looking so . . . frenzied.

She told him everything, and waited for his response. And then something frankly neither of them was expecting happened. Sweeney Todd's face lit up. "That's brilliant!" he cried. "Especially with the trip . . . I couldn't have planned it better myself."

"But . . . 'ow exactly does the trip help us, er, you, rather, Mr. T?"

He didn't answer her directly, saying instead, "Mrs. Lovett, would _you_ like to go to the Orient?"

"I don't know," she answered, taken aback by the question. "I mean, I suppose it would be very interesting, so exotic and all. But then, aren't there supposed to be tigers and things in the jungles out there? Not to mention the danger of traveling alone these days."

Sweeney Todd smiled. "Exactly. Especially if you carouse with lowlife types, like our friend Judge Turpin is known to. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he disappeared altogether, what with his typical reckless behavior."

Mrs. Lovett saw the light. "You're right!" she whispered with excitement. "It's perfect! You're brilliant!"

Sweeney Todd laughed for a moment. "And the way you put it- 'because you're such an estimable figure in the community' -just perfect!" he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. "You're wonderful," he said, and she felt her heart race.

But then, in a perfect example of the phrase "speak of the devil," the little bell above the shop door rang, and the voice of the good judge himself rang out, "Excuse me, but I was told I could get the best shave in London here, and I haven't got all day."


	15. Chapter 15

**Yikes! Verity meant to post this about a hundred years ago, but she's just been so busy! So, without further delay, chapter 15!**

"Oh, Judge Turpin," said Mrs. Lovett. "I was just tellin' Mr. T here you might be stopping by. Well, I'd best be getting out of the way, I've got a batch of pies downstairs that'll burn to a crisp if I don't get 'em out of the oven soon," she scurried out and ran down the stairs, heart racing.

It was just Sweeney Todd and the judge now.

"Do sit down," Sweeney Todd said, voice chillingly civilized. "And might I say what an honor it is to have someone of your . . . reputation at my humble shop."

Downstairs, Mrs. Lovett was pacing frantically. She was mostly nervous in anticipation for her Mr. T, but there was something else nagging at the back of her mind: what if, once he killed the judge, he turned back into Benjamin Barker? If this were one of those penny dreadfuls they sold on the street corners, that's exactly what would happen. And, well, she'd be happy for him, she supposed, it's just that . . . well, truth be told, _she didn't love Ben Barker, she loved Sweeney Todd._ There, she said it. She'd hardly known Ben Barker, and besides, it had been fifteen years ago. She shuddered, remembering what_ she_ was like fifteen years ago, back before she'd married Albert. She'd been just about the silliest little twit in London! It was only natural to change over time, she thought, and she loved her Mr. T exactly as he was.

_Well, _decided the eminently practical Mrs. Lovett, _we'll cross that bridge when we come to it._

Upstairs, Sweeney Todd was talking, or rather listening, to Judge Turpin as he shaved. "So, yes, this Johanna, my bride-to-be, lovely little thing. My ward, and an orphan, it's so sad. Her father was particularly disappointing, criminal type, you know?"

_So close I can taste it,_ thought Mr. Todd, but only said, "So sad, I know. By the way, I hear you're leaving for the Orient tomorrow. Is that true?"

"Oh yes," said the judge, swelling up with pride. "Nothing wrong with a little fun before I tie the knot! You've heard of some of the women out there, I can only assume . . . I do hope Johanna's not _too_ troubled by it, but what she doesn't know will not hurt her, right?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about Johanna," said Sweeney Todd, suddenly lowering his razor from the jaw line to just below it, at the neck. "You'll never see her again."

Judge Turpin was too shocked to struggle, too shocked to do anything but ask, "Why . . . ? Who _are_ you?"

This was his moment. "The years no doubt have changed me," said Sweeney Todd, turning for the first time to look Turpin straight in the eye. "But then, what is the face of a barber, or the face of another prisoner, to one such as yourself?"

"B-B-B-Benjamin Barker!" stammered the judge.

"These days," replied Mr. Todd, calm as anything, "it's Sweeney Todd." And with that he plunged the razor into the throat of his enemy, and rubies spilled forth in a cascade, and Judge Turpin's eyes grew empty and dead, and he was no more.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the more you think you will feel a certain way, the less likely it is that you will actually feel that. Such was the case for Sweeney Todd. He had imagined feeling fierce, triumphant, victorious upon extracting his revenge. Instead, what he felt was a crashing wave of relief. It was as if he had been running a marathon and finally, finally he had reached the finish line.

Of course, he had to share the news with Mrs. Lovett.

When Sweeney Todd walked down the stairs into her shop, Mrs. Lovett was almost afraid to look at him. But when she finally did turn to see him standing there, shirt stained with blood, and looked into that handsome face, into those deep dark eyes she'd always loved, it was her turn to feel crashing relief. He was looking at her the same way, with affection, mild agitation, and love, as he always did. Not unlike the way she looked at him. She still had her Mr. Todd.

"So you killed 'im, then?" she asked, smiling tenatively.

Sweeney Todd said nothing, just nodded, smiling a little himself, and thinking how even with her hair a little mussed, like she'd been pacing frantically, Mrs. Lovett had never looked more beautiful. Then, almost involuntarily, two words spilled out of his mouth.

"Marry me."

"W-w-what?" Mrs. Lovett asked, hardly daring to believe her ears. Sweeney Todd was asking himself much the same question. He had always figured he would propose to Mrs. Lovett in some grand dramatic fashion, perhaps at a ball as the clock struck midnight, but somehow this just felt . . . right.

"Danielle Lovett," he repeated, taking both her hands in his, "will you marry me?"

Mrs. Lovett had always hoped Mr. Todd would propose in some sweeping, romantic fashion, perhaps in the middle of a garden on a bright sunny day by the sea, but somehow this felt more exactly perfect than that could ever have been.

"Yes," she whispered, eyes filling with tears of joy, "yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" and she threw her arms around him, neither of them caring about the bloodstains, and they kissed with more passion, more joy, than either of them had previously known was possible.

"I love you, Mr. T," whispered Mrs. Lovett when they broke apart for air.

Sweeney Todd smiled. "I love you, soon-to-be Mrs. T."

And at the sound of that, Mrs. Lovett couldn't have helped positively melting into another kiss if she'd wanted to.


	16. Chapter 16

**Hey! Sorry that Verity the Lazy Bum took so long with this, but it's here now, anyway. This was actually going to be the last chapter, but because Auntie Verity loves her readers (and had an idea she liked) I'm also going to add in an epilogue. And now, with only a brief drum roll, it is my pleasure to present chapter 16!**

"Friends, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Danielle Lovett and Sweeney Todd."

Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett's wedding was far and away one of the grandest and most beautiful events any of the guests had ever been to. It was held outside, at Todd Hall, on a bright day in June, with the lapping of the ocean in the background.

Absolutely everyone was there, from Aunt Jane and Uncle Freddy, to Colonel Tudsbury, to little Toby, who was the ring bearer. Anthony and Johanna came together, having announced their own engagement with rather unseemly haste, barely a week after it was decided that the judge must have befallen some grim fate in the Orient. No one blamed the two of them, though, and they did look sharp together, if somewhat foolish, both wearing green and sniffling softly into freshly-monogrammed handkerchiefs when the wedding march started up.

Mrs. Lovett's mother had taken the news of her daughter's engagement very well, first fainting, then, after being revived with smelling salts, popping up to chatter on about how wonderful it all was and what sort of dress would be best. She, sitting between her friend the vegetable lady from the market and Todd Hall's housekeeper, was positively bawling along with the other two women before the organist had even sat down. As for Mrs. Lovett's acerbic old curmudgeon of a father, when she had broken the news to him, he'd just patted her hand and said, "I'm happy for you, Nellie. And as for this Todd fellow, well, if you want to marry him, I suppose he must be alright," which was one of the longer speeches she'd ever heard from him.

The only one missing was cousin Andrew, who claimed to have a grocer's convention in Leeds that he couldn't afford not to attend, and although he was missing, he was not missed.

Getting ready, Mrs. Lovett was positively glowing. Her dress was ivory lace with a three-foot train, and she wore the Todd family tiara along with a sterling silver locket with violets etched into it. Her bouquet was stargazer lilies, her favorite, and white roses. Some, (ahem, ahem, her female cousins) might have said this outfit was a little ostentatious for a second marriage, but to them Mrs. Lovett said, _I wore secondhand lavender muslin when I married Albert, and we all saw how that went. This time I am marrying Sweeney Todd, the man I love, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to have a full wedding dress with all the trimmings. _As she surveyed herself in the mirror one last time, she felt, for the first time in her life, that curious mixture of joy and excitement and fear and love and eagerness. She felt, for the first time in her life, like a bride on her wedding day.

As for Sweeney Todd himself, looking particularly dashing in one of his usual dark suits standing at the alter, he was nervous as could be. It wasn't a _bad_ sort of nervous, though, he realized. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that for the first time in fifteen years, in an entirely non-vengeance related circumstance, he was looking forward to something. He almost laughed out loud when he thought it, but there it was.

The wedding march struck up, and Mrs. Lovett started down the aisle on her father's arm. She reached the altar, gave her father a quick embrace, and turned to face her Mr. Todd.

Their eyes met, and in that look, along with Mrs. Lovett swooning at how handsome her future husband looked, and Sweeney Todd wondering why it had taken him so long to notice his downstairs neighbor and now wife-to-be was beautiful, were a thousand things that couldn't be put into words. However, if one had to try, those words would probably be, emanating from both of them, something like, _you saved me._

Though they had largely left the planning up to Mrs. Lovett's mother and Todd Hall's housekeeper, there was one particular Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett had insisted upon: the minister had to be at least average height. Under no circumstances, they said, were they to have A Little Priest at their wedding. No one had understood that, but they'd gone along, and so it was a man who stood at a respectable six-foot-one who conducted the ceremony.

"Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"I do," said Mrs. Lovett, loud and clear, smiling like she'd just been handed the world.

"And do you, sir, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?"

Sweeney Todd smiled and gave Mrs. Lovett's hand a gentle squeeze. "I do," he said, softer, but firmly.

"Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

It was a long kiss, and a deep one, both of them thrilled and oddly relieved that finally, _finally_, they were married, and Toby whistled and the guests all laughed. The brand-new Mr. and Mrs. Todd broke apart, laughing themselves.

And then there was the reception, and the toasts, and throwing the bouquet (Johanna caught it), and Colonel Tubsbury getting drunk and singing loudly towards the very end, and all of that, but that isn't really important. What's important is that Sweeney Todd and Danielle Lovett, two people who had both had lives full of hardships, who had seen the wickedness of the world, had actually done it. They had managed, despite it all, to live happily ever after.


	17. Epilogue

6 Months Later

"Okay, pull your wrist back, steady now," said Sweeney Todd as he guided his pregnant wife's hand. She did as she was told, and launched the salad plate until it whirled like a discuss across the garden, finally smashing against a wall with a satisfying clatter.

"I did it!" shrieked Nellie Todd, face lighting up. Inwardly, she gave herself a mild scolding. _You've been married to this man for six months,_ she told herself in her mother's voice._ You're four months along pregnant with his child, and still just feeling his hand on your wrist turns you to absolute jelly. I know you're in love, but it's ridiculous. _But she was still smiling.

For a moment Sweeney Todd marveled at how he had managed to find the one woman in the world who was just right for him, just as he was, and even more amazingly she'd agreed to marry him. Then he refocused his attentions to the teacup in his hand and how it would sound smashed against the wall. Since moving to Todd Hall and giving up the meat pie business, he had occasionally indulged in his old hobby of plate throwing, and he thought it might be good for his pregnant wife, get any sort of hormonal anger and all that out. Besides, Anthony and Johanna had given them some spectacularly ugly china for their wedding, and it seemed like an excellent use . . .

Anthony and Johanna had just recently married; in a gesture that meant more than she knew, Johanna had, lacking a father of her own, asked Sweeney Todd to walk her down the aisle, and Mrs. Todd-formerly-Lovett, although married, had been something like a bridesmaid. The happy couple was now living at Hope Hall, where they threw frequent and lavish dinner parties, and were alarmingly enthusiastic and charmingly naive about everything.

"Don't forget, we've got dinner at Andrew's tonight," his wife's voice broke his train of thought.

"Oh, are you sure we can't find a way out of that?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

Cousin Andrew had also married not long after their wedding. His wife Belinda was perfectly suited to him, a skinny, domineering woman with a high voice, a penchant for extremely heavy makeup and five- no, four- cats.

Nellie thought for the thousandth time how lucky she was to have found this man; how unbelievably lucky that he loved her back. ""Fraid not," she said, adding with a mischievous smile, "Belinda's likely to be in a right state since that cat of hers died."

A wicked grin spread across Sweeney Todd's face. "You mean the mangy yellow one who kept biting people? Yes, pity about that. And on the very day I was going to trim its fur. Funny how those coincidences work out, isn't it?"

"Yes, well, I made a special treat to cheer them up," Mrs. Lovett-Todd was smiling; she knew he'd like this.

"What's that?" Sweeney Todd asked, arching one eyebrow suspiciously.

"Oh, just meat pies," she said, smiling innocently.

She was right; he did like it. So much in fact, that he swept her into a kiss, both of them holding tight to each other and kissing with all the passion in them.

"Meat pies," he repeated with a wicked grin when they broke apart. "My favorite."

**Picture Verity fainting, then coming to with smelling salts, then jumping up and down with glee. That is how happy you, wonderful readers, have made me. It really choked me up how many of you said you were sad to see it end, and you know what, I am too, I'm really going to miss this story. A special thanks to anyone who answered my questions, to all my regular reviewers (especially BabyBluewinx, tearsandeyeliner and Johnnydspiratequeen for reviewing nearly every chapter) and . . . well, all of you, even the lurkers. You all make Verity extremely happy. Meat pies all around!**

**Hugs,**

**Verity**


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